Madness is Relatives
by hp1piececraziness
Summary: From the moment he proposed to Mercutio, professional lunatic and uncontrollable source of havoc, Benvolio was prepared for all the joy and stress that comes with an engagement. He was not, however, prepared for two sets of hostile in-laws, unexpected fires, and a baby gate separating Tybalt and his fiancé. And that isn't even the end of it. Bencutio Slash. Modern AU.
1. The Passionate Fountain Rescue

**Disclaimer: I am not the ghost of William Shakespeare and thus, I do not own** _ **Romeo and Juliet**_ **,** _ **The Two Gentleman of Verona**_ **or anything associated with either play. I am but a Shakespeare nerd who loves Bencutio.**

 **Author's Note: Although this fanfiction is intended to be humorous overall, it does contain some serious social issues (specifically, homophobia). I do not intend in any way to make light of these issues and will do my best to treat them accordingly. That being said, this thing isn't near as dark as many of my other fan fictions. There is a fair amount of crack and an overdose of fluff.  
Though the character design for Benvolio and Mercutio are based on the musical Roméo et Juliette: Les enfants de Vérone (which I don't claim to own either), a lot of other things in here were inspired by the 1968 movie adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. Both the musical and the movie are excellent and I highly recommend checking them out if you haven't already done so.**

Chapter 1

 _The Passionate Fountain Rescue and What Came of It_

From a certain angle, it really had looked like Mercutio was drowning. Alright, maybe Benvolio wanted to look like the hero for once. Or maybe he just needed an excuse to approach the attractive young man who was sprawled shamelessly in the fountain. Whatever it was, he should have known he was going to end up being humiliated.

He hadn't woken up in the morning expecting to play untrained lifeguard/first responder that afternoon. No. He had been minding his own business on his way out for his lunchbreak when he caught sight of a human form in the town square's stone fountain. The man was dressed in a flamboyant form of business casual, not the usual type of outfit one would wear for a swim in a fountain (though there weren't exactly enough people who engaged in this activity to determine what constituted proper attire), and was lying in what appeared to be a half-drunken, half-drowned stupor.

Drawing from his experience thus far with reasonable and intelligent behavior (which was tragically limited), Benvolio didn't take long to deem the stranger's behavior both hazardous and idiotic. A moment later, he was dragging the young man out of the filthy water, praying that neither of them would catch any waterborne illness in the process.

Benvolio didn't expect a long speech of gratitude. A simple "thank you" would have sufficed. He would later learn that the young man he'd just "rescued" was not exactly one for traditional manners. This became clear when the latter squirmed out of his arms, looked him straight in the eye and shouted:

"What the fuck was that?"

It was a far cry from gratitude. People were staring at them now. Benvolio was beginning to have serious regrets about his attempted heroism.

"I… I thought you were in trouble," he said. "You looked like you were drowning over there."

"I was just trying to cool myself down when you grabbed me!" the other man screamed, making Benvolio wince. "Seriously, is this some kind of weird hobby? Do you just go around looking for sexy men to snatch out of fountains so that you can carry them bridal-style to 'safety'?"

"No!" Benvolio said, wondering exactly how one would make a hobby out of snatching sexy men out of fountains. "Look, I'm sorry. I was trying to help you. I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable. I'll… I'll be on my way now."

He turned to leave but the stranger caught him by the shoulder and whipped him around.

"Uncomfortable?" the stranger said, grinning like a madman. "You think that made me uncomfortable?"

Benvolio stared at him blankly. The 90% of his mind that was dedicated to logical thinking was screeching at him to run away. It generally wasn't wise to stick around lunatics one had never met before. Yet, there was something oddly appealing about this lunatic in particular.

"You acted like it made you uncomfortable," was all Benvolio could say.

"Oh, did I?" the lunatic replied. "You have much to learn about me. It's going to take a lot more than that to make me feel uncomfortable, more than you're capable of."

He took a step closer to Benvolio, who, for whatever reason, did not shrink away. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was pretty confident he could overpower the lunatic if the latter turned out to be dangerous. Then again, it may have had to do with the fact that the 10% of his mind which Sigmund Freud would have described as the Id had detected the presence of another man around Benvolio's age with an appealing bone structure, a full head of silky, dark curls, a suggestive glint in his eye, and other features that Benvolio really shouldn't have been focusing on at the moment.

"What you did back there," the lunatic continued, "Was one of the most exhilarating moments of my day." He brushed against Benvolio's shoulder, making the Montague blush. "Even if it was a little uncalled for and certain moments felt like they were taken out of a lousy romance novel. I hate those things, don't you? And they keep coming up with more of them, and I'm telling you they just get weirder… and not to mention the movies. You know the other day…"

His voice accelerated with every word. The lunatic could really talk forever when he wanted to. Soon, Benvolio was having seriously difficulty keeping track of the rambling. After what seemed like hours of nonsensical soliloquies, the lunatic took a deep breath and asked, "Now, what's your name?"

"Benvolio," Benvolio said before he could stop himself. The logical part of his brain was shouting at him again about all the ills that could come of giving away his name to a stranger who may or may not have been mentally unhinged. At least he hadn't revealed his last name. That would make it slightly harder for the lunatic to stalk him if the latter was so inclined.

"Benvolio," the lunatic said, pausing to think. "Benvolio Montague?"

So much for guarding his full name.

"Yeah… how did you know?" Benvolio asked.

"I know your cousin," the lunatic replied. "Romeo, right? I work with him. Well, I used to work with him before he got fired that is."

Benvolio nodded. A few days ago, Romeo had been dismissed from his last internship after following the manager's daughter home one evening, prompting his latest "true love" to call the police with reports of a stalker. To Romeo, the incident was a romantic tragedy. To Benvolio, it seemed more like a waste of a paid internship he would have killed for when he was Romeo's age, especially considering that his cousin had only met the girl a few hours before he decided to stalk her. Of course, this seemed a bit hypocritical now that Benvolio was pretty close to giving away his address, phone number, social security number and blood type to an unabashedly flirtatious man he'd met barely ten minutes ago.

"Romeo mentioned having a close friend at work," Benvolio remarked. "What's your name anyway?"

"Mercutio," the lunatic said.

"Pleased to meet you," Benvolio mumbled. "That's a nice name. It suits you."

"How so?"

"It's um…"

"Adorable? Irresistible?"

"I was going to say unusual… uh, not to say that your name isn't adorable because it is. It's just a nice name all around, I guess…"

Mercutio let out a manic cackle. He then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a violet post-it pad.

"You got a pen?" he asked.

Benvolio nodded. Mercutio scribbled something onto a post-it and handed it over. The handwriting was an enigma that would take some time to full decipher, but it was clear enough that Mercutio had written down his name, a phone number, and his full address.

"Um… are you sure you want to give me all this?" Benvolio asked. Flattered as he was by Mercutio's interest in him (he wasn't exactly the best at landing dates), the thought of giving this much information away to any random person on the street made his blood run cold. If they ever ended up being more than acquaintances, Benvolio vowed to instill some sense of "stranger danger" in Mercutio since his parents had evidently failed in doing so. Self-preservation was apparently a rare virtue.

"What?" Mercutio whined. "Are you not interested? What happened to the Benvolio from the Passionate Fountain Rescue?"

"It's not that I'm not interested," Benvolio tried to explain, wondering since when had he become the Benvolio from the Passionate Fountain Rescue. "It's just…"

"Are you scared?" Mercutio cut him off.

"Scared for you if this is how you handle your private details," Benvolio retorted.

"Oh, but I don't do this all the time," Mercutio insisted. "I only do it for you. This is a special occasion."

"A special occasion?"

"Yes. You're a special guy. You don't meet special guys very often. Most of the time, I'm just stuck in a crowd of assholes and boring people, but you're different."

"How do you know I'm different?"

"I just _sense_ it."

"Uh huh. Do you have some sort of sixth sense for that?"

"Like I said, I just know that you're a special guy and I want you to have my phone number."

Benvolio sighed. Mercutio was pretty damn _cute_ when he pouted. That was a dangerous trait to have in a romantic partner. Still, there was something unusually appealing about him.

"Okay," Benvolio said. "If you insist, I'll keep your contact info in case I need it for… something."

"Like a date."

"Um… right. Well, I'd better be on my way, but it was a pleasure to meet you. I'll tell Romeo I saw you."

"Where are you going?"

"Lunch."

"Can I join you?" Mercutio was threatening to pout again. "Please?"

By all right, Benvolio should have refused. It wasn't in his nature to take things so fast. Looking back on that day, he shuddered to think of how easily everything could have turned into a horror story if Mercutio wasn't just a _harmless_ madman.

"I don't see why not," Benvolio said.

It was only after lunch when they were about to part ways that he openly questioned the nature of their meeting. In response, Mercutio entered another bout of infectious (and slightly unnerving) laughter and assured his to-be partner that they had indeed just went on their first date.

A month later, they returned to the fountain in the evening for a meal at a slightly fancier restaurant. All went well until Mercutio got a little too drunk and mistook his napkin for a hat. By this point, Benvolio had had too much wine himself to care. So, their first organized date was more or less a success.

In the weeks that followed, the couple met once more at the fountain. Benvolio would later blame the hot weather for his somewhat impulsive behavior that night. Long story short, one thing had led to another and before he knew it, he was making out with Mercutio in front of the local theater. Their amorous activities were briefly interrupted when a group of angry parents approached them railing about excessive PDA. Mercutio being Mercutio decided to ignore this distraction. Benvolio didn't exactly protest. At least he managed to keep his pants on for the whole night.

It wasn't long before one of the pair's excursions ended with them tangled up together in bed. Shortly after, Mercutio was meeting Benvolio's parents for the first time. A month later, Benvolio finished his residency at the local hospital and the couple moved into a modest apartment together. Work progressed. (At least, in Benvolio's case. Mercutio remained steadily unemployed.) Their relationship progressed (despite the fact that they had already developed the tendency to argue like an old married couple).

Before he knew it, Benvolio found himself waiting at their original meeting place again, wiping sweat off of his hands and obsessively checking that a very important piece of jewelry had not slipped out of his coat pocket. Yes, he was panicking, but who could blame him when the entirety of his self-esteem and love life was at stake? He saw his cousin's car pull up by the sidewalk to let Mercutio out while Romeo supposedly searched for a parking spot.

"Is there some kind of conspiracy going on that I should know about?" Mercutio demanded as he approached Benvolio.

"What makes you say that?" Benvolio feigned innocence.

"I'm not an idiot," Mercutio said. "And you and Romeo couldn't keep a secret if your lives depended on it. So, what's the deal?"

Benvolio took a deep breath and began the speech he'd been rehearsing in the mirror the night before.

"This place is very important to me," he began. "And I think you know why. It's hard to believe it's been five years since…"

"Shit."

As always, Mercutio just _had_ to interrupt. Would it kill him to just nod and smile for once? Having successfully killed the nostalgia of the moment, he gave Benvolio a sheepish smile.

"It's today, isn't it?" he muttered. "Happy dating anniversary, sweetheart. Five years already! I didn't actually forget. I mean, I didn't _intend_ to forget, so I didn't have bad intentions, and that's all that really matters in the end, right?"

"You're about two weeks off," Benvolio said, making a mental note to check his calendar once he got home. "Five years is an approximation."

"Oh," Mercutio said. "So… what were you saying about this place?"

"Yes. It's important, because of a certain colorful character I attempted to save from drowning. Do you remember that day?"

"Of course. You know, I also remember getting drunk really early in the morning that day."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me, but regardless, that day was one of the most fortuitous days of my life. I know, it sounds hackneyed, but I really do mean it because from then on, things just kept getting better. Not to say that we haven't had our… stumbling blocks. But in the end, you're so full of life that you've made mine a real thrill, a crazy, passionate thrill. And that's why…" Benvolio paused to calm himself before kneeling down and holding out a violet-tinted engagement ring. "That's why I want to spend the rest of it with you. Will you marry me?"

Mercutio stared at him, a smile spreading across his face. For a moment, he looked as though he was about to laugh. Instead, he said:

"Is dinner still on regardless of how I respond to this?"

"Romeo told you about the dinner reservation?" Benvolio managed to say. He was cursing himself now for making the reservation before anything was certain. "He wasn't… ah, never mind… yes, it's still on even if you… you're not… up to this… yet…"

"Well, it doesn't matter because I'm saying yes right now. Hell yes."

Benvolio barely had time to process what had just transpired before Mercutio leaped at him. This was the time that, if Benvolio had been better prepared and had stronger arms, he would have caught Mercutio and in a pose worthy of the cover of any romance novel. However, Benvolio was _not_ prepared and had about as much arm strength as a jellyfish. He stumbled backward upon impact, his now fiancé fell on top of him, sending the lovers tumbling over the edge of the fountain just as Romeo snapped a photo from his hiding spot behind a nearby tree.

Miraculously, they did not lose the engagement ring which Benvolio promptly slipped onto Mercutio's finger. They were both drenched now, however, and there wasn't enough time to change before dinner. The restaurant hostess was noticeably baffled when two young men stepped in looking as though they'd both walked through a waterfall, but she seated them anyway.

They spent the better part of the evening trying to dry Mercutio's mop of curls with a cloth napkin. Benvolio later slipped on his way out and would have fallen on his face if Mercutio hadn't steadied him. It was a far cry from a flawless romantic evening, but neither of them would have had it any other way.

 **Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I will do my best to update this regularly. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. If there's something you like, or something you think I could improve, feel free to leave a review. I will do my best to respond to all reviews, so long as they are not spewing hate against me, Shakespeare, the Bencutio pairing or other anything else.**


	2. Mercutio and Benvolio's Girls

Chapter 2

 _Mercutio and Benvolio's Girls_

A trail of couch stuffing greeted Mercutio and Benvolio when they returned to their apartment near midnight.

"At this rate, all our furniture will be gone," Benvolio groaned.

"She'll grow out of it," Mercutio said.

"That's easy for you to say," Benvolio muttered. "You're not the one who has to clean up the destruction and gets bitten in the process."

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing a display of scratches and bite marks.

"At least she's too small to draw blood," Mercutio said. "Remember what happened with Queenie?"

"I'd rather not think about that," Benvolio replied, wincing. "I almost needed stitches."

They followed the trail to the living room, where the culprit, a tri-colored Pembroke Welsh corgi, lay asleep on the rug, covered in bits of fabric. Her older partner-in-crime, a dog of the same breed but different coloration, was lounging on a badly torn couch.

When Mercutio said he wanted a puppy, Benvolio had agreed under three assumptions: first, Mercutio would actually help him care for the dog; second, the dog would not be intent on mass destruction; third, the dog would be a loyal pet to _both_ of them. All of these assumptions had proved erroneous.

Queenie, as they had named her, had a vendetta against carpet, table legs, and Benvolio's clothing, all of which she chewed with a fury whenever the opportunity arose. She _adored_ Mercutio, who spoiled her with treats but assumed no responsibility for walking, bathing, or cleaning up after her. Benvolio was a different matter. As far as Queenie was concerned, Benvolio was a living combination of a chew toy and a personal slave.

Yet, he had agreed, a few years later, to getting another dog knowing very well what he was in for. The puppy, Maybelline AKA "Mab", had quickly adopted Queenie's behavior and doubled Benvolio's torture. At least it was an adorable brand of torture. No matter much havoc they wreaked on the house, the dogs were still Benvolio and Mercutio's spoiled, furry children. The girls, as the dogs were often called, knew how to take advantage of this fact in every way.

"Someone needs to clean up this mess," Benvolio sighed. "I feel like it's your t **u** rn."

"I'll deal with it tomorrow," Mercutio replied.

Benvolio rolled his eyes, knowing well that "I'll deal with it tomorrow" translated into "You do it. I'm either too lazy or just don't give a damn."

"We should probably keep the girls away from the living room for the night," he said. "I'd rather not wake up and find that the rest of the couch has been eaten."

"I wanted a new couch anyway," Mercutio said.

"Good for you," Benvolio muttered. Sometimes, he wondered if his partner and the girls were conspiring behind his back. It seemed a little too much of a coincidence that all the furniture that got torn up happened to be whichever pieces Mercutio wanted replaced. "Now, help me get the girls into the kitchen. We can block them off there for the night. They've got their doggy beds to sleep on, so they'll still be comfortable."

Mab stirred, but was apparently too tired from her latest crime to complain when Mercutio carried her to the kitchen. Her sister was another matter. Queenie had woken up now and was giving Benvolio a look that he knew meant "Don't you dare touch me, fool. I will rip your hand off if you try."

Sure enough, she nipped him the moment he tried to pick her up. Benvolio hissed in pain. The bite left a tooth-mark, but didn't break skin.

"You're not good with animals, are you, Beni?" Mercutio remarked.

Queenie's stump of a tail began to wag the moment she heard Mercutio's voice. She jumped off the couch and happily followed him to the kitchen. She gave Benvolio a side-glance before settling down on her bed, as if to say, "Look, you terrible man. Now, I have stolen your fiancé."

Mercutio closed off the entrance to the kitchen and sauntered over to examine his partner's latest wound.

"Not too bad," he said.

"Easy for you to say," Benvolio grumbled. "You're not the one who's covered in battle scars."

Mercutio laughed and leaned his head against his fiancé's shoulder. Benvolio stroked his partner's back and the latter shuddered at the touch of fingers running down his spine. Prior to their relationship, Benvolio had never a fan of physical contact. To a certain extent, he still was, but Mercutio was a different matter entirely.

"It's Friday night," Benvolio said with a smile. "We can afford to stay up a little later, don't you think?"

"Oh, what a splendid idea," Mercutio crooned. "How do you suppose we should spend the remainder of this special evening? Some way to celebrate our engagement?"

"I have a few ideas."

With that, Benvolio rested his hand on Mercutio's waist and guided him to their bedroom.


	3. The Throes of Awkward Interruptions

Disclaimer: As I'm sure everyone knows, I do not own the lyrics to "Single Ladies" by Beyoncé.

Chapter 3

 _The Throes of Awkward Interruptions_

They were barely a foot past the door before the clothes started flying. Their lips met and, perhaps in hopes of redeeming himself after the latest fountain incident, Benvolio took his fiancé up in his arms and carried him towards the bed.

The romantic atmosphere was shattered by the chorus of "Single Ladies".

"You changed my ringtone again?" Benvolio groaned.

He dropped Mercutio rather abruptly onto the bed and went to search for his phone.

"You know you like it," Mercutio giggled.

"Shut up," Benvolio said. "I've already got enough people convinced that I'm in love with everything Beyoncé because apparently _all_ gays adore Beyoncé and you're not helping."

After what seemed like an eternity, he found the source of the music in the pocket of his discarded pants. He answered the call.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

Now, Benvolio was naturally on the skittish side, so it didn't take a lot to make him feel awkward. Having a conversation with his mother while his naked boyfriend watched him from the bed was therefore far from ideal.

Mercutio, on the other hand, wasn't easily embarrassed. In fact, some sadistic part of him enjoyed punishing his brother for interrupting intimate moments by answering calls with "Hello, Valentine. You've reached your dear little brother, Mercutio. I am currently in the middle of a heated love-making session with Benvolio. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as we're done here or press one for more erotic details." Valentine had since learned to be more careful timing his phone calls.

Still, if anyone could crack through Mercutio's shamelessness, it was Benvolio's mother. Mercutio's status with his future in-laws wasn't actually too bad. He was on surprisingly good terms with both of his partner's parents and had been relieved to find that the Montague family was far more accepting of homosexuals than his own.

However, Emilia Montague had made it clear that although she supported the relationship, neither Mercutio nor any man on Earth would _ever_ be worthy of her precious son. One of her favorite ways to strike up a conversation was to feign interest in Mercutio's hapless endeavors as a performing artist and then casually sneak in the issue of unemployment into the discussion. Whatever followed led up to the same reminder: Benvolio was the one with the "smart" career as a dermatologist and if not for him, Mercutio would be broke. So he better damn well be grateful.

"Is everything okay?" Benvolio said into the phone. "Hmm. Actually, there is something I wanted to tell you… Yes, it's about Mercutio… No, he did not cut his hair… I don't foresee that happening anytime in the future." He glanced at Mercutio, who fervently shook his head, appalled by the thought of chopping off his hair. "How long is it now? Oh, a little past the shoulders, but look. This isn't what I wanted to tell you." Benvolio took a deep breath, before announcing the big news. "Mercutio and I are engaged."

Mercutio could hear Emilia's sobs from across the room, and the phone wasn't even on speaker. He couldn't tell if they were sobs of joy or grief. Maybe it was both.

"Yeah," Benvolio went on. "I proposed to him today. No, I'm not joking… What do you mean? No, he's not afraid to commit. I don't know where you got that impression… Look, Mom. Mom! Just because someone performs at nightclubs does not mean that they're a whore. Okay. I'm glad to know that's not what you meant… Thank you. Mom? Keep it together, okay. I haven't heard you cry like this since I graduated from med school… Thank you… Yes, we'll be sure to stop by… Tomorrow should work. Yeah… I don't know. Romeo was supposed to take pictures, but I don't know how well they turned up. We kind of… fell into the fountain. We're fine, though."

The call dragged on. At some point, the other end of the line was occupied by Benvolio's father who then passed the phone back to his wife shortly after. Emilia had a special talent for bringing various non sequiturs into ordinary conversations, until they grew into rambling diatribes. Normally, Mercutio didn't mind. He wasn't the attention hog so many people thought he was and didn't need Benvolio's focus to be on him 24/7. Still, he couldn't fight the feeling that this time, Emilia's rambling was leading up to something along the lines of "Mercutio's _okay_ considering the fact that he's an unemployed loser leaching off of you, honey, but there's no way in hell he's good enough to marry my perfect little boy."

"Oh, you want to talk to him?"

Mercutio nearly jump out of his skin. Before he knew it, Benvolio was pushing the phone towards him. Mercutio shoved it away, shaking his head at his partner. It was too late at night to deal with his future in-laws.

"Come on," Benvolio hissed. "Just take the damn phone."

Mercutio responded by shrinking away from the phone as if it was cursed. With a sigh, Benvolio set the device to speaker mode and threw it at his fiancé.

"Alright, Mom. He's here."

Mercutio gave his partner the middle finger. Benvolio only laughed.

"Good evening, Mrs. Montague," Mercutio said.

"We're going to have to find something a little less formal that you can call me, Mercutio" replied Emilia, "Now that you're going to be my son-in-law."

"Uh, yeah," Mercutio's usual eloquence was beginning to give way to anxiety. "Beni told you, didn't he? He proposed this evening. It was the sweetest thing… and well, um… I… I couldn't feel luckier."

"Well, I'm glad to know you've grasped how good you have it. I'm happy for you boys…" Mercutio braced himself for the catch. "Now, there were a few things I wanted to ask you, Mercutio, just to clarify we're on the same page. Would that be alright?"

"Of course." It wasn't as if he had a choice.

"Firstly, I assume the current state of your… career is the same as it was last we spoke?"

"Yeah, no major changes," Mercutio admitted. "But I did get a phone call the last week for a little gig at a café."

"And how long will that contract hold?"

"Er, well, there isn't exactly a contract at this point. It's more of a one-time thing right now, but who knows. It might become something else."

"Maybe, but saying that Broadway seems out of the question for now, I'm assuming Benvolio will be main breadwinner."

"That… that sounds about right," Mercutio said, wincing a little at the mention of his entombed childhood dream. Talk about a fucking _low_ blow. He fought back a whimper. Benvolio gave him a nod of sympathy from the corner of the room but didn't intervene.

"He is doing very well at the new practice," Emilia continued. "I don't know if you've seen, but there's a website full of reviews for the doctors in this area and guess who I stumbled across the other day? You know, he has _rave_ reviews."

"Doesn't surprise me at all. He's an intelligent man. That's part of what I love about him."

"His work keeps him busy. Poor thing barely gets a break."

Mercutio wanted desperately to point out the blatant lie, but kept quiet. If Benvolio was really on such a tight schedule, how did he have time to nag his poor partner to death every day about trivial things like almost leaving the oven on overnight and conveniently forgetting to drive Romeo back from the theater (Romeo had deserved it anyway)? How did he have time to walk, feed, and bathe the dogs and do all of the other things Mercutio was technically supposed to do but couldn't be bothered to do?

"It's a good thing he has you then," Emilia continued. "Someone to stay home and take care of the chores. You'll make a wonderful househusband."

Mercutio started, nearly banging his head on the bed-post. There were a few (okay, maybe more than a few) things he absolutely couldn't stand in this world and being called a househusband was one of them. He was a _starving musician_ who just so happened to stay at home while his partner was at work. There was something romantic about the idea of a "starving musician". Being a househusband on the other hand, conjured up images of frilly aprons, cleaning supplies, guests to entertain and other disturbing thoughts.

"I guess so," Mercutio said through gritted teeth.

"Good. Now, before I congratulate you on your engagement to Benvolio, I have a couple more things I need to ask. It'll be quick."

 _Like hell, it'll be quick_ , Mercutio thought, preparing himself for a long monologue.

By the time the call ended, he felt as if he had just signed a demonic wedding contract with his own blood. In addition to the typical "I will love him with my whole heart no matter what" business, he had also sworn to donate all the blood, organs, or bone marrow he had to offer to Benvolio if the need arose and defend his partner against everything from street thugs to mutant barracudas. Benvolio's mom was definitely capable of thinking of some creepy marriage vows.

"I'm sorry about that," Benvolio said with a sigh. "She's a little paranoid, I know, but believe me, she does like you."

"She likes the fact that we have the same blood-type if nothing else," Mercutio replied. "Oh, and she also likes the idea of you having your personal househusband."

Benvolio cringed.

"Again, I'm sorry," he said. "I know you don't like to be called that."

"Can you imagine me as a househusband? I mean, you're never happy with the cleaning I do around here as it is."

"Yeah, you're not exactly the maid type. As a matter of fact, you're the exact opposite, considering how you organize things. Really, between you and the dogs…"

"Okay, okay. You've made your point." Mercutio's frowned quickly dissolved into a coquettish smirk. "Now, shall we resume our… romantic evening?"

Benvolio accepted the invitation with ardor. He was on top of Mercutio now, kissing him until they were out of breath, working up to the moment when…

" _IF YOU LIKED IT THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE PUT A RING ON IT!"_

Benvolio pulled back and glowered at his partner.

"That song is a curse to humanity," he growled, reaching for his phone. He frowned when he saw the caller ID.

"Mom? Is something wrong? You literally just called me... No, I don't know remember… oh, him…" He grimaced. "That sounds… like quite a problem… But I'm sure it looks worse than it actually is… Yes. Have him call the office and set up an appointment. I should be available. Okay… Do I sound out of breath? Well, that's because…" He glanced at Mercutio, blushing furiously. "I've been doing some exercise… It's never too late for exercise… Yes, I'll be sure to get some sleep. Okay. Love you. G'night."

He made sure to set his phone to the "do not disturb" mode before he returned to bed.

"What was that about?" Mercutio asked.

"One of my mom's friends wants to set up an appointment with me," Benvolio said. "Something about an ingrown hair that's…" He shuddered, trying to purge the image from his mind. As a medical professional, he wasn't particularly squeamish. Still, there were some things that were just unnerving enough to get to him. Fortunately, Mercutio was an excellent distraction, especially when he so happened to be naked and posing like a swimsuit model. "Anyway, where were we?"

They returned to Take Three at the throes of passion, but didn't get very far before the doorbell rang. By this point, Benvolio was starting to think their romantic evening was cursed. Who the hell could be at the door at one o'clock in the morning? At first, he feared that they were under attack, but his paranoia passed. Even the most polite of robbers didn't ring the doorbell before a break-in.

"Just ignore it," Mercutio said.

So they tried, only to have the doorbell ring again. There was a pause. Then, they were assailed by an endless stream of ringing.

Now, Mercutio was one of those people who, when he was in the mood and excited enough, could have sex anywhere, at any time, even if the house was burning down around him. Benvolio was not. So, when the doorbell resounded for the twelfth time, he rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mercutio whined. He threw his head back and cried, "Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?"

Benvolio was used to these theatrics right now, but that didn't stop him from blushing like a poppy. To his fiancé's dismay, he left the room. He was decent enough, he supposed. And if the person at the door had a problem with it, well, maybe they'd learn to drop by at a decent hour next time.

He wasn't one to shout. That was usually Mercutio's job. Nonetheless, when he opened the door and found his cousin standing in the hallway, looking as if nothing were amiss, he found it difficult not to scream.

"Romeo?! What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"I think I forgot my wallet here," Romeo replied, apparently baffled by Benvolio's rage. "I might have dropped it the last time I visited. So, I was wondering if I could have a look around…" He stopped and stared at his cousin. "Why are you sweating?"

 _Kill me now_ , Benvolio gave a silent plea. _This is the guy who's gotten a reputation as the local stalker creep amongst at least half of the girls in town. This is the guy who's gotten banned from a restaurant for excessive PDA… and I'm going to have to explain the Birds and the Bees to him. Oh please, kill me now._

"ROMEO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE UP TO?!"

Mercutio's shriek reverberated through the room. The entire apartment complex was probably awake now. Pretty soon, there would be a riot of angry neighbors outside.

"I was wondering if I could look for my wallet," Romeo said, backing away. "But… if you want me to go, if you're in the middle of something, I'll just…"

"Oh yes," Mercutio seethed. "We were in the middle of something, and Benvolio was just about to get in something else a moment ago. If you want me to elaborate on what that something happens to be, I will do so happily and with _abundant_ details. If you'd rather not have that picture of your cousin and best friend in your head, then you can get the fuck out now and talk to us at a reasonable time. Go entertain yourself with Juliet or whatever the hell it is you do in the middle of the night, but _leave the happy couple alone_. Okay?"

Romeo was gone before he could give a response. Mercutio turned back to his fiancé, looking very pleased with himself.

"Shall we get back to our business then?" he said.

Benvolio gave a deep sigh and nodded. They returned to the bedroom. Take Four was a success.


	4. The Almanac of Wedding Planning

Chapter 4

 _The Benvolio Montague Almanac of Wedding Planning_

Mercutio stared at the binder in horror. He didn't dare to pick it up from the dining table, where he had found the rude surprise next to his morning coffee. He didn't even dare to go near it, else he give the false impression that he liked any part of this.

"Why?" he moaned.

"Weddings don't plan themselves," his fiancé said. "I figured we'd better get organized. So, I made a little checklist."

" _Little_ checklist?" Mercutio rolled his eyes. "How many fucking pages are in that thing?"

Benvolio opened the binder, revealing a table of contents, a _color-coded_ table of contents.

"Forty-one pages," he said. "There's still room for details."

"Dammit, Benvolio!" Mercutio exclaimed. "Do we really need this?"

"What else are we supposed to do, wing it?" Benvolio retorted.

"Ye- I mean, um…"

Mercutio took a moment to reconsider his position. He'd improvised the better part of his life with _workable_ results and under any other circumstances saw no need to get into this slimy business of "planning things".

But this time was different. He was in this with Benvolio, the man who flattened dollar bills with a dictionary before placing them in his wallet according to value, issue date, and discoloration, the man who saw someone being five minutes late for dinner as cause to file a missing person report. When you got to that level of anal retentiveness, too much improvisation could be fatal.

This was meant to be a joyous milestone. Benvolio was determined to make it perfect and Mercutio wanted it to be so for Benvolio's sake if nothing eles.

 _Don't you dare fuck this up_ , he told himself. _Don't you dare._

"Okay," he said at last. "It's not that I don't think we should plan at all. I mean we do need to make reservations and stuff. I get that, it's just…" He gestured at the binder. "Do we really need a forty-one-page-long, color-coded instruction manual?"

"It's not an instruction manual," Benvolio sighed. "It's a compilation of resources. Look here." He beckoned to Mercutio, who reluctantly came over to take a look. "I've got a checklist here that'll carry us from this point to our wedding. That's the first thing…"

"The checklist by itself is five pages," Mercutio remarked.

"Well, we have a lot to do," Benvolio said. "That's why we need to _plan_. So, that's our basic outline. The rest of the binder has resources for making reservations, potential venues and other things I found online. As you can see, the resources are matched to items on the checklist by color. So, light green on here for engagement ring insurance matches with light green for these printouts in the back, red for contacts in general matches with these red sheets, which we can add to accordingly, purple for…"

"I know my colors, thank you very much," Mercutio interrupted. "One of the few useful parts of my education, you know. Ugh. Look, I appreciate your very thorough research and stuff, but this isn't surgery. I mean, we don't have to stick with this exactly, right."

"No, we don't have to bind ourselves to a fixed set of details, but I we need some sort of plan to work with. Don't worry. There are still a number of open-ended occasions, bachelor parties and such, that come with weddings but…" Benvolio cringed as if remembering a traumatic memory. "Just try not to take things too far with the festivities. We need to have some limits, right? Something solid to stick by."

"Yeah, sure," Mercutio said, nodding.

Benvolio was getting a terrible sense of déjà vu. His thoughts wandered to the many times he'd told Mercutio not to "take things too far" and the injuries, both physical and psychological, which had followed. He shuddered and forced himself to concentrate on the wedding. It wasn't good to dwell on the past, especially when the past involved a near catastrophe with a blowtorch.

"Now, back to the checklist," he said.

He indicated the first item. Mercutio leaned over to read it:

" _Notify family members_ ," it read.

 _Well, this is going to be a conundrum,_ he thought.

"You've almost covered _that_ , right, Beni?" he said, trying to conceal his apprehension. "I mean, your parents know, Romeo knows and he's probably told his parents, who I believe you talked to earlier, and I'm sure he's talked to most of our friends too, so we can say we're done with this one. Now, what's next on our…"

"Have you talked to your side?" Benvolio asked. The affected innocence of the question cut through like a knife. Any attempts at an excuse on Mercutio's part dissolved into a bout of nervous laughter. "I take that as a no."

Mercutio shifted uneasily. Queenie, who'd been gnawing on a piece of rawhide, looked up at him accusingly. Apparently, Benvolio wasn't the only one appalled by the fact that he had not yet informed his family of his engagement amongst other things.

 _Hypocrite_ , Mercutio thought. _Come on, you don't even like Valentine. You treat him worse than Benvolio, and that says something. Maybe you can sense he likes cats._

"I haven't told them just yet," he hesitated. "Don't take it the wrong way. It's nothing to do with you… I just haven't gotten the chance. In fact, let me go and call my brother right now."

With that, he darted out of the room before Benvolio could stop him.


	5. Explaining Time

Chapter 5

 _Explaining Time_

"Val? Are you there?"

Mercutio paused, waiting for his brother to pick up the phone. The other end of the line was silent.

"It's your beloved little brother, Mercutio."

No answer.

"So, in other words, you have to pick up the phone… if you love me, that is."

Still no answer.

"Are you ignoring me?"

Nothing.

"I know you're ignoring me, and you know what Val? It breaks my heart. Yeah, it breaks my fucking heart."

Still nothing.

"I know you're not doing anything important right now. At least, you're not doing anything that's more important than what I need to tell you right now. I mean, let's face it, you don't really do a whole bunch of important things at work or elsewhere. In fact, you don't do many important things in your life, now do you? So, why don't you pick up the phone? This conversation could very well be the highlight of your day."

Silence. Aggravating silence.

"VALENTINE! YOU PICK UP THE PHONE RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO…"

There was shuffling on the other end followed by the very irritated voice of Valentine Moretti:

"I'm here, Mercutio. Calm down."

"It's about time," Mercutio said. "What the hell took you so long?"

"I was doing the dishes and my phone was upstairs," Valentine replied. "As I lack the ability to teleport, a fact that you apparently cannot grasp, it took me a while to get to it. Now, what's so urgent?"

"Well," Mercutio hesitated. "I'm not sure how to put this."

"Your voice sounds off. Like you're in a tunnel or a box of some sort. What's up with that?"

"I'm in a closet."

"I don't see what your reluctance to come out has to do with…"

"No, I am literally in a closet. I shut the door, so I'm kind of cramped in here."

This was no lie. Mercutio took a moment to adjust himself, knocking down a few clothes hangers in the process. Apparently, there was no comfortable way to squeeze into a closet.

"What on earth did you do that for?" Valentine asked with the degree of patience one only achieved after many long and painful years of dealing with Mercutio-style shenanigans.

"Because Benvolio's in the house," Mercutio replied. "And what I'm about to tell you might make him panic, so I don't want him to overhear us."

"Oh God," Valentine moaned. "What did you break?"

"I didn't break anything!" Mercutio said indignantly.

This _was_ a lie. He was once again reminded of the list of things he'd broken in the past few months:

Three dinner plates (that was Benvolio's fault for trusting him to set the table).

Romeo's phone (that was Romeo's fault for walking too close to the edge of the pool and not accounting for Mercutio's sudden curiosity concerning high heels and lack of experience wearing them).

A garden gnome (that was Queenie's fault for wrapping her leash around his leg).

The door to Benvolio's study (that was both Romeo and Benvolio's fault for buying delicious wine and not drinking enough themselves).

The bathroom mirror (that incident had happened too recently for Benvolio to notice, but when he did, he'd surely explain how it was his fault).

"I didn't break anything _recently_ ," Mercutio amended. "Well, apart from the mirror… but that's not what I wanted to discuss."

"What is it then?" Valentine asked.

"Remember the time that you forged Mom's signature?" Mercutio asked.

"No," Valentine said slowly.

"It was a while ago. I think you were in eighth grade."

There was a pause on the other end.

"The eighth grade," Valentine muttered. "I _vaguely_ remember something along those lines now that you mentioned it, but you couldn't have been more than four years old then!"

"Exactly," Mercutio continued. "So I was old enough to understand that you'd get in trouble for what you were doing because I was a well-behaved child…"

"You were not. I had to babysit you. I know you were _not_ a well-behaved. You would have burned down the house if I took my eyes off of you for more than…"

"Alright, you've made your point."

"You were also really picky when it came to food," Valentine mused aloud. "You hated parsley, if I recall correctly. Parsley and, what was the other thing… oh yeah, cauliflower. You used to give everyone hell at dinnertime…"

" _You've made your point_ ," Mercutio groaned. Come to think of it, he still hated parsley and cauliflower. "Anyway, as I was saying about you forging Mom's signature, I saved your ass that time by keeping your dirty little secret. So, you owe me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, you owe me."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not and now, I'm entitled to have you keep a secret for me."

"Oh God, Mercutio…" Valentine heaved a deep sigh. "Okay, first, let's get one thing straight: I do not owe you for something that happened _eighteen years ago_ , and even if I did at any point in my life, I've more than compensated for it by now. Be that as it may, I don't think I have much of a choice as far as listening to your demands is concerned.'

"Clever Val," Mercutio remarked. "You know me too well."

"So, although I feel like I'm going to regret asking this and I know my blood pressure's going to skyrocket in a few moments no thanks to you, what's this secret about?"

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall followed by the _clack_ of the bedroom door opening. There was only one person that could be, unless the dogs had grown opposable thumbs overnight.

"I'm going to have to make this quick," Mercutio said, eying the crack under the door nervously. "Here's the deal: sometime in the next few weeks, I'm going to get in touch with our dear parents and extended family concerning a major life change, something along the lines of me moving somewhere in the freezing mountain range in Sweden. In other words, I will be moving somewhere very inconvenient and unpleasant for them to visit."

"What the fu…" Val started to say, but Mercutio cut him off.

"They'll be quite stunned to hear about it," Mercutio went on solemnly. "I'm sure, especially since I probably won't be seeing them very often. In fact, the nature of the move just so happens to make me unavailable for the next three… ten… sixty years or so. So, it'll be up to you to comfort them and also explain why such a drastic move was entirely necessary for my occupational and spiritual endeavors."

"This is not fair. If you want me to lie on you behalf, you could at least think of something that makes a hint of sense!"

"It's not my fault if you're not creative enough to work with it."

"And may I ask why you feel the sudden urge to convince our family that you're moving to the Scandinavian Mountains?"

There were shadows moving outside the door. It was time to wrap up the conversation.

"Well," Mercutio said with suspicious nonchalance. "Long story short, romantic stuff happened and Benvolio and I are getting married."

"WHAT?!" Val shouted.

At that moment, the door to the closet flung open and Mercutio, who happened to have been leaning on said door, fell backwards into Benvolio's arms. His phone tumbled to the floor, which was fortunately carpeted, and lay there unattended while Valentine's frantic questions buzzed in the background.

"Oh, hello, darling," Mercutio said.

Benvolio only stared at him and put on the dubious expression Mercutio knew as the Explaining Time Face.

" _Mercutio! Are you there? What the hell, Mercutio!"_ Valentine's voice had risen in volume and was now clear enough to be a nuisance. Mercutio ended the call courteously by kicking his phone under the bed.

"So," he said, turning back to his fiancé. "Before I get into my explanation, how much did you hear?"

Benvolio sat down on the bed and rubbed his temples, apparently afflicted by a Mercutio-induced migraine.

"We're moving to the Scandinavian Mountains now are we?" he said.

"Oh, yeah… about that…"

Mercutio smiled unconvincingly. He climbed onto the bed and draped an arm around Benvolio's neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" Benvolio asked. He was drawing on his emergency reserve of equanimity.

"Being strategically adorable," Mercutio said, nuzzling closer to his fiancé.

"Strategically?"

"Strategic in that now, it'll be harder for you to be mad at me."

"I…" Benvolio closed his eyes and counted to twenty. "I will do my best not to be mad at you. So, you can tell me everything. You know that right?"

Mercutio nodded and took a deep breath.

"Benvolio, darling," he drawled. Benvolio braced himself. Mercutio only used that tone when he was about to reveal something _really_ horrible. "I've got something to tell you, but first you have to promise to let me finish before you freak out, okay?"

"Okay," Benvolio said, knowing he was going to regret that answer.

"You know how I don't really talk about my family too often?" Mercutio began. "Besides Val, I mean. Well, there's a reason I'm not close to them." His tone was somber, as if he was about to dive into a philosophical lecture. "The reason is, they're some of the most uptight, bitchy assholes in this gigantic, fucking world of assholes. The first eighteen years of my life were pretty suffocating. So, after I left for college, I kind of systematically distanced myself from them. Now, we don't talk anymore.

"And it's worked out pretty well so far. They keep out of my hair. I don't know what the hell's going on with them and they don't have a single fucking idea what's going on in my life. No one really has a problem with it. Val isn't delighted about it, but I don't think he's going to cry havoc if we keep things the way they've been these past few years concerning our engagement."

He paused, allowing Benvolio to formulate his thoughts. When the latter spoke again, his tone was surprisingly even:

"It's rough, I know. I have it pretty easy with my own family, but I know that's not the case with everyone. It's going to be awkward, no doubt, especially since you haven't spoken to them in some time, but ultimately, they'll be happy to hear from you. I can say that much without even meeting them. Part of the matter is getting the chance to get back in touch with them, right? This could be the perfect opportunity… and I really would like to meet them."

"That's the thing," Mercutio said. "You've never met them. So, you underestimate their assholery. Also, when I say they don't know what's up with me, I mean they _really_ don't know anything, not even the big things."

"Are you worried about what they'll think of your career?" Benvolio asked. "You've got real talent, that's for sure, even if the venues you perform at aren't exactly the most… formal of places."

"It's not my career," Mercutio said. "And I've found some very classy nightclubs, thank you very much. It's…" His voice trailed off. He prided himself in being able to talk his way out of tight spots. This, however, was a real quagmire. "It's us."

"Us?" Benvolio tried to conceal his rising anxiety. "I… I don't suppose they know you have a partner, do they?"

"Not exactly. They know I have a significant other. Val accidentally ratted me out. So, they know I've been dating someone. You could say they know I've been dating _you_ in a quasi-anonymous way. They know your name starts with a 'B', for instance, because that's what we've been referring to you as. I think Val might have mentioned something about your being a doctor, which they'd like because they're all about social status and jobs that'll make you rich…

"What they don't know is that you're a man."

"I…" Benvolio was at a loss for an adequate response. "So, you're saying…"

Mercutio threw his hands up in a surrendering pose.

"They don't know I'm gay," he said.


	6. Complications In-Law

Chapter 6

 _Complications In-Law_

Though it wasn't the first time that Mercutio had sprung nervous-breakdown inducing news on him, Benvolio still found himself unprepared.

"What?" he asked, trying to suppress an approaching migraine.

"I _said_ , 'they don't know I'm gay,'" Mercutio repeated.

Benvolio stared at his fiancé, searching for words.

"What do you mean they don't know?"

Mercutio rolled his eyes and sighed.

" _They_ , being my parents and extended family," he said. " _Me_ , being myself. _Gay_ , being the state of my romantic and sexual attraction to men, or in other words, the fact that I love you in a way that I also want to fuck you and…"

"Alright, I get that," Benvolio interrupted. "It just… doesn't make sense. So, you've really been hiding all of this from them?"

"That's how secrets work. You're so naïve sometimes, you know…"

"Shut up. So, let me get this straight…" Mercutio sniggered and received a glare that could freeze molten metal.

"Your maturity is astounding," Benvolio muttered. "So, you're telling me that we've been cohabiting for the past five years. Half of your sparse employment opportunities have been performances at gay bars and nightclubs, for which you were in dreg at least half of the time despite the fact that I told you, you look scary with mascara. You literally go out of your way to be a stereotype, and your family still has no idea you're gay."

It was times like these that Benvolio expected a thorough explanation and was perpetually disappointed. After a long pause, Mercutio shrugged, leaned back on the bed and said:

"That sounds about right. Though, I wouldn't say they have no idea… they might have a vague impression, but it'd be hard for them to tell… you know?"

"No, I don't know _because you never told me anything until now_."

Benvolio wasn't the sort to snap at people, so when he did, it was quite effective. His fiancé sat up in bed and, for once in his life, actually looked like he was paying attention. Even the dogs seemed to have noticed something was amiss. Queenie was sitting in the doorway with her head cocked to the side, as if to say, " _What did you guys screw up this time?"_

 _Ben's giving you that look,_ Mercutio thought. _You've got this. Just don't say anything that'll make him flip out more._

"You're right. My parents don't know that I've been dating a man… but first of all, I never told you that they _did_ , so you can't say I lied."

Benvolio's eyes widened. _Bad move, Mercutio. Let's try again._

"In retrospect, I probably could have given you a head's up or mentioned this at some point earlier, but it's a moot point now. You know, hindsight is 20/20…"

 _He doesn't look convinced_. Mercutio closed his eyes. _So, it's come to this._

"Okay. I should have explained this to you earlier and I'm sorry that I didn't. Honestly, I'm sorry."

 _Damn. Apologizing sure takes a lot out of a guy_.

"That's more like it," Benvolio said. "Now, if there's anything else you want to get off your chest… and please, don't make me regret saying this… tell me now."

Mercutio paused to think. He glanced at the door to the bathroom and said, "The bathroom mirror's broken again."

"Seriously?!"

"Huh… I was hoping you'd say you were the one who broke it."

"What?"

"Because the fact that I don't remember how the hell I broke it is frankly disturbing."

"We just got a new mirror two months ago!" Benvolio exclaimed. "And how do you not remember breaking…" He sighed. "Okay, okay… getting back to what we were discussing. Considering our engagement, you're going to have to come out to your parents."

"No, I don't," Mercutio said.

Leave it to Mercutio to surprise everyone with his stubbornness.

"What's your plan then?" Benvolio asked. "Wait until they see you with another groom at the wedding? If you think I'm going to pose as a woman to keep up your masquerade at the family gatherings, you're mistaken."

"Or we could not invite them to the wedding," Mercutio said.

Even Queenie, who had been noisily gnawing on a bone, paused and stared at the couple, appalled by the suggestion.

"You've got to be kidding me," Benvolio said. "You don't need me to tell you how badly that'll turn out in the long run."

"What part of they're assholes and I don't want to be around them do you not understand? They won't come if we invite them anyway." Mercutio's voice softened. "I lived with them long enough to know that, and if it's between letting the connections fade naturally or having someone else cut them, I'll take the former any day."

Mercutio shook his head and turned to face his partner.

"They never supported me even for the little things," he said. "They sure as hell won't be with me on this one."

Benvolio considered this and came to one conclusion: there were a number of things that bothered him in this world, but there were few things he hated more than seeing Mercutio so deflated. He wrapped an arm around his partner, drawing him closer.

"I'll be with you," he said. "And I think we're on the same page when I say you'd rather keep the connections, rebuild where you have to…"

"I didn't ask you for poetry," Mercutio replied with a tight smile. "Thanks though… and that would be nice, I suppose, if I could get along with them, but I'm telling you, _it's not happening_."

"We'll think of something," Benvolio said, though he wasn't sure how true that was, especially since Mercutio wasn't too fond of well thought-out plans.

"I can't believe I'm giving you a way out of having in-laws and you just refuse to take it."

"In-laws are a part of marriage. Honestly, I think popular culture paints much more of a negative picture of the matter than necessary…"

"That's idealistic even for you. In-law problems aren't a myth, they're…"

For the second time since their engagement, the conversation was interrupted by the chorus of "All the Single Ladies". Benvolio let out a silent cry of pain as he dragged his phone out of his pocket.

"Who is it?" Mercutio asked.

"Romeo," Benvolio, replied. He answered the call. "Hey… yeah, actually do you mind if I call you back? Mercutio and I are… busy. Exciting news? Juliet?" He and Mercutio exchanged puzzled glances. "You… what?!" Benvolio's mouth fell open. A shadow of horror crept across his face. "Congratulations," he said, forcing a smile. "Yeah… I'll get back to you about meeting for lunch or something. I'm sure Mercutio would like to congratulate you both in-person." A nervous laugh. "They'll be… elated, I'm sure. Well, congratulations again and I'll let you get back to her… yeah… bye."

Benvolio placed his phone back in his coat pocket and collapsed onto the bed.

"Well, what did he say?" Mercutio was almost afraid to ask.

"You know that girl he's been dating?" Benvolio said. His voice was harried, as if the phone call had aged him ten years.

"Yeah," Mercutio said. "Julie… Juliet, right?"

"That's right," Benvolio replied. "Juliet. Well… it would seem that as of last night, they're… engaged."

"Wait!" Mercutio shrieked. "Juliet _Capulet_?!"

"As far as I know, my cousin's only been dating one girl named Juliet," Benvolio said dryly. "So, that would be her."

A long gap of despairing silence passed between them before Mercutio finally found the words to express their predicament:

"Well, fuck."

Queenie howled dolefully and ran from the room.

"We have in-law problems," Benvolio said. " _Major_ in-law problems."


	7. A Glorious Soap Opera Conspiracy

Chapter 7

 _A Glorious Soap Opera Conspiracy_

"I feel like this is the bad type of positive reinforcement," Mercutio lamented.

He turned the heat down on the stove to keep the cream from scorching. Baking cookies was usually a rewarding activity, especially when he got to eat most of them. On the other hand, baking cookies for a dinner party he didn't want to host for people he didn't want to see seemed like cruel and unusual punishment.

"How so?" Benvolio inquired from the living room.

"It's like how you're not supposed to give a kid candy to get them to stop throwing a tantrum," Mercutio said, "Or how if you keep petting a dog so that they stop barking for attention, you end up encouraging bad behavior."

"Could you explain how is this related?" Benvolio asked. "Also, you did that with both of our dogs, which explains why they're so… loquacious."

As if to confirm his point, Queenie and Mab began to bark at an invisible phantom at the window.

"Romeo just got us screwed with this engagement," Mercutio explained, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony of howling. "And now, we're inviting him and his fiancée over for a fancy dinner. So, logically, wouldn't that just make him want to screw us over more?"

"It's not a reward," Benvolio said. "It's called basic courtesy. This is for us too, you know. Just look at is as a preview of the engagement party. Also, no one said anything about a fancy dinner. This is more like a modest get-together."

"Excuse me!" Mercutio shrieked, slamming down a knife onto the chopping board. "I am working my ass off to get this dinner ready for you ingrates and you call it a 'modest get-together'?"

Benvolio entered the kitchen and surveyed the hectic scene. Cleaning up after the party was going to be a challenge, but the delicious aromas emanating from the oven convinced him that the mess was entirely worth it. He made his way over to where Mercutio was busy cutting vegetables and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"My apologies, dear," he said. "It smells heavenly in here."

"Good, because it feels like I'm working in Hell's Kitchen," Mercutio retorted. "I hate cooking for large groups…"

"You need any help?" Benvolio offered.

"Yes," Mercutio said, "But I don't trust you in the kitchen. Thanks though."

"Tell me if you change your mind."

"I'll never understand how you can ace medical school and still not know how to boil pasta."

"More proof that the G factor theory of intelligence is bogus," Benvolio muttered.

Mercutio rolled his eyes. The minds of science-obsessed nerds operated strangely indeed.

"Save the technical rants for dinner," he said. "How long until people start getting here?"

"Well, Romeo and Juliet said they'd be here around 6:30," Benvolio replied, glancing at his watch. "So, we have another hour, but we won't be having dinner till 7. Your brother said he'd be here with Silvia by then."

"I don't see why we had to invite Valentine," Mercutio said, frowning. "Especially not after our latest conversation…"

"Why? What happened?"

"Let's just say he wasn't very happy about the… abrupt ending to our last conversation, and when that man wants to lecture someone, he just goes on and on and on. He's going to bring up the whole issue of our parents again, and I'm not too keen on diving into that mess." Mercutio sighed. "But he did congratulate us on our engagement. Silvia too. Val's not the type to get too sappy about these things, but I have to say, he told me some pretty corny things last we spoke."

He turned to Benvolio and added: "Don't expect the rest of my family to be like that."

The edge in Mercutio's voice convinced Benvolio not to push the subject further.

"So, I've got the cooking under control," Mercutio said. "And you've done the cleaning."

"I'm not done with the cleaning," Benvolio interjected.

"You're done with the cleaning by normal human standards," Mercutio amended. "Now all we need to do is figure out our game plan."

"Game plan?" Benvolio already knew the answer wasn't going to be sane.

"For Romeo's reevaluation of his life."

"Please tell me this isn't going where I think it is."

"Look." Mercutio cleared his throat. "People make mistakes, and let's face it, your cousin is the type of guy who makes _a lot_ of them. When your friends and family start to screw up, it's best to stop them early on before they commit to more things and get themselves into an even deeper pile of shit. It's like when Valentine stopped me from dousing the firecrackers in alcohol when I got drunk for the first time."

"That didn't actually happen, did it?!"

"That's not the point. The point is, sometimes people get engaged to the wrong person amidst their youthful stupidity, and it's up to their friends who are older and wiser to stop them before they marry into the Capulet family."

" _Stop right there_."

Benvolio had built up a pretty high tolerance for the socially unorthodox. It was the only way for him to survive his boyfriend, his family and pretty much everyone he'd ever made acquaintance with. That being said, some things were just unacceptable.

"We are not going to invite Romeo and Juliet over just to sabotage their engagement," he said. "Absolutely not."

"I know it's not really the nicest thing to do," Mercutio argued. "But I like to view it as tough love."

"I don't care what you want to call it." Benvolio took a deep breath. Finding his Mental Happy Place was increasingly difficult these days. "We're not doing it."

"It's not even my idea!" Mercutio said.

"Uh-huh." Benvolio rolled his eyes. "Then who thought of it? The girls? I never knew canines could be so devious…"

"Your mother."

"That's your comeback? What are you? Twelve?"

"I'm serious," Mercutio insisted. "She and your aunt called while you were at work about how we're closer to Romeo at this point then they are, so we would be the best people to talk some sense into him about this business with the Capulets. Go ask them yourself!"

As crazy as it sounded, Benvolio knew when his fiancé was telling the truth. Sometimes he really thought he needed a new family. His Mental Happy Place was threatening to fade into oblivion.

"Honestly, it's not that surprising," Mercutio went on. "I mean, one of the first things I learned about your family was how much they hate…"

"The Capulets, I know," Benvolio interrupted. "I don't like them much either, but that doesn't justify us conspiring against my cousin's love life like we're in some kind of soap opera."

"You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't care about Romeo," Mercutio whined. "I knew him before I even knew you, but we've got to watch out for him…"

"Would you stop acting like you're the responsible, mature one here?" Benvolio snapped. "Anyone who knows you at all could tell that the reason you're latching onto this terrible plan is so that you have an excuse to screw with the Capulets."

"It's really just Tybalt who I want to wreak havoc on," Mercutio said. "Besides, don't tell me you don't want to mess with them a little."

"I never said I didn't want to," Benvolio conceded. "The point is we can do that without scheming against Romeo."

Mercutio turned back to his chopping board in a huff. If he kept going, the vegetables would be minced into microscopic bits, but he didn't care. Mincing was both addictive and therapeutic.

"So, what are we going to do tonight then?" he asked.

"We're going to be normal decent people, congratulate Romeo and Juliet on their engagement and keep all conversation related to her family civil," Benvolio said. "Then, we're going to try to talk some sense into your family."

"We?" Mercutio exclaimed. "I'm on your family's side for this!"

"Fine then. I'm going to talk some sense into _all of you_ , but don't try anything tonight or I swear I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what?"

"I'll think of something to do that you'll absolutely despise. In short, don't you dare try to break up the happy couple. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got three more rooms to vacuum."

Mercutio sniggered.

"You're really cute when you try to be threatening," he remarked.

"Shut up, Mercutio."


End file.
